That's three
by FinallyAssimilated
Summary: There was only one thought in Jake's head when he shot her ...


Author's note: Another variation on what happened immediately after the end of "Upgrades."

Please also note: I don't own anything, just like to write about it and hope you enjoy reading it. R&R's are greatly welcome and appreciated; I do try to reply to each one I receive and employ the suggestions

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As he clicked off the phone, staring in horror at the girl, her blood spreading slowly across the pavement – shots to the head really didn't bleed like some other methods of death – the sheer, gut-wrenching anguish that usually descended upon him when he had killed someone just wasn't as strong.

There was only one thought in his head: _That's three._

_Maybe it's because I did it in self defense,_ he thought to himself. _Maybe it'll bother me __more __later._

It scared him; he would never really understand why, though he decided later it was yet another turning point in his life.

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Louise Beckett sighed, and turned to her staff.

"Alright, people; one suspect down, in the garage, you know the drill."

People dutifully began to fulfill their roles; putting on jackets and cleanup suits as they headed for the garage to begin the investigation and handle the body.

Diane bit her lip, and quelled her sudden urge to run down and comfort him. He would need her, as a friend, and soon, she thought, but right now, her experience and her feelings for him weren't what he needed most – that was clear from the way the JMD had registered only a quick, pointed spike when Jake had shot the would be assassin. She resisted the vague, floating notion that if she did go to him right away, they would almost certainly end up breaking the fraternization rule.

As Kyle put on his jacket and began to head towards the garage, she put a hand on his arm.

"Kyle," she said quietly.

He turned sharply; she only called him by his first name when she was very serious about something.

"Yeah, what's up?"

She bit her lip, and looked down at the floor, then she took a deep breath and looked right at him.

"What do you guys usually do when an agent kills someone, and they really didn't want to?"

He smiled at her; he sometimes envied his young partner this woman's obvious affection and this was one of those times. Still, he was grateful that Jake had someone who could keep him so grounded.

"No one ever really wants to, Diane; if you forget that part, it's time to stop being an agent."

"Would you tell him that, please? Would you let him know that?"

He shrugged into his jacket, and looked at her.

"Yeah, I'll tell him; I'll do what partners usually do under these circumstances," he said lightly. He had a playful look on his face, as he headed towards the elevator door.

Diane frowned, following him.

"What's that?"

"Bring him a twelve pack and a $500 a night hooker," he said, grinning wickedly at her, as the elevator door closed.

Diane sighed disgustedly and rolled her eyes, momentarily wondering how serious he was.

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The knock on the door wasn't quite the one he had been expecting, even hoping for since he'd arrived at his apartment. She had a distinctive knock; this one was different.

He looked through the peephole, somewhat but not entirely disappointed to see Kyle instead of her.

Kyle held up the twelve pack of dark, foreign beer with a grin.

"Hey, I could use some help with this," he said jovially.

Jake opened the door, and smiled back at his partner. He was grateful for the company, and the effort at helping him feel better; besides, if it had been her, that load of crap he'd given her about working together and "… I think we both understand, that … we just can't" would have gone straight out the window.

"Is this part of the NSA policy and procedures for dealing with your partner after he shoots someone dead?" he asked in a sardonic tone.

"It used to come with a $500 a night hooker, but with budget cuts and the recent administration, we've had to scale back on some of the amenities," Kyle replied, without missing a beat, as entered the apartment. Setting the box down on the counter, he removed tow of the bottles, twisting the top off of one of the bottles and handing it to the younger man.

Jake chuckled, taking a long swig off the bottle and putting the box with the remaining bottles in the refrigerator.

"A $500 a night hooker, huh? And now all I get is you, Agent Pretty Eyes?"

Kyle smiled, relieved. It was a good sign when an agent could start to joke around after a kill, especially an agent as young as Jake.

"Well, Diane and I drew straws, and I lost." He flopped down on Jake's couch, removing his tie, and propping his feet up on the coffee table. Jake followed him into the room, and sat down in the straight back chair across the table from him.

"Are you comparing Diane to a $500 a night hooker? Better not let _her_ hear you say that, especially after what she did on New Year's Eve."

Kyle laughed.

"Ain't that the truth. No, I wouldn't dream of dissing her like that."

The air between them was silent now; Jake studied the floor between them, taking long draws on his beer. Kyle eyed his partner carefully and the brooding look on his young face.

"If it ever stops bothering you, it's time to stop being an agent."

Jake looked up suddenly, puzzled.

"What?"

Kyle sat up and set his bottle down on the coffee table. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs; his eyes more serious than Jake had ever seen them.

"You have to feel these feelings Jake, and get past them. You can't let them get in your way, but if you ever stop having them after a kill, you've lost your humanity, and no amount of liquor or sex is ever going to replace that. It can't. If you try that, you'll just end up in a different kind of hell."

Jake pondered his partner's words, taking another long draw on the beer. It wasn't exactly helping, but it wasn't hurting, either. He thought maybe he should ask Kyle; the feeling had really scared him.

"What if it just starts to bother you less – is it your humanity slowly slipping away? Or do you just wake up one day and you're a killing machine?" Jake asked; his voice had an eerie, calm tone, but his eyes belied his confliction, as he stared at the floor between them.

Kyle said nothing for a minute; he was all too familiar with the sense that Jake had described but it had been many years since his had passed.

"In some cases, it will bother you less – this time, you were clearly in a kill or be killed situation; and you reacted as any trained agent – heck, as any trained law enforcement or military person would react in the same situation."

The senior agent leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Jake, you only used one bullet; that's the sign of someone who's still in control of his actions. The firefights are usually wreaked by people who react without thinking. You _thought_ about it."

Jake wasn't assuaged by this wisdom.

"Then I should have thought harder; I could have disabled her, instead of killing her." He finished the beer with another long swallow, still staring at the floor.

"There wasn't time. If you'd thought about it just one second longer, _you'd_ be dead."

They continued to sit, Jake staring at the floor; Kyle staring at Jake, watching as the younger man absorbed his words. Jake listened intently, grateful for his partner's words. Now he grinned at the older man.

"You sure about the sex thing? It might be worth a try."

"Eh, not since they took out the part about the hookers," Kyle replied with a grin.

Jake chuckled, then his face got serious again, and he stared at the rug.

"How long does it take?" he asked, in a low, tortured tone.

"As long as it's going to take," Kyle replied gently.

There wasn't anything more he could do or say to help Jake, except have a couple more beers with him and try to take the edge off temporarily – that edge would return as soon as Jake was alone, and as Kyle had already told him, he'd have to feel those feelings and put them behind him, and Kyle would have to hope the younger man could do so without the comforts of drugs or alcohol.

They sat like that for a moment longer, until the tentative knock on the door told him that she was there.

Jake grinned slyly at his partner.

"That must be the hooker," he said in a low voice; they both knew it was Diane.

"Oh, you are truly flirting with death there, my friend," Kyle replied with a grin.

He swung open the door, smiling at her, grateful beyond words for her comforting presence. _A $__5__00 a night hooker has nothing on her,_ he thought.

"Hi."

"Uh, hi; I just thought you might like some company, after what happened." She smiled her quirky smile. He looked down; she had a twelve pack.

"Oh, yeah; I brought beer. Kyle said the usual thing is to bring a twelve pack and a …

"A $500 a night hooker," the other agent said, grinning as he came up behind Jake. "Excellent; she brought reinforcements," he said as he reached for the box. "Do you want one of these or one of the manly beers I brought?" he asked over his shoulder, as he put her lighter lager in the refrigerator next to his.

She was still standing in the door way.

"Oh, sorry, come on in," Jake said, as he waved her in. He stood to the side of the door as she entered, immersing himself in the sense of her as she passed him. _That__'s__ as good as it__'s__ going to get tonight,_ he thought, _but I'll take it_.


End file.
